Category Archives: humanity

Weekend Coffee Share (11/20/2016)

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If we were having coffee, I would tell you that the Accidental DIYer has struck again. The last time I suffered this affliction, my unsuspecting living room floor went from this:

161120a

to this:

161120b

and ultimately to this:

161120c

It’s still not a completed project, as the hardwood floor needs sanding and refinishing, but that’s for another day.

This week, what started out as a plan to repaint my kitchen cupboards, turned from this:

161120d

to this:

161120e

So now my little paint project has escalated to a demolition of the area around my stove, cutting down the shelving to accommodate a new range hood, putting up new backing on the wall behind the stove, rebuilding cupboards on either side of the range hood, lining the old cupboards with wood veneer, cutting cupboard doors down to new size and hanging them, installing new counter tops (I’m thinking of trying to make my own concrete counter tops)… Oh, and some painting.

I don’t know how this happens, other than to say that my toolbox is bigger than my common sense.

If we were having coffee, I would find some polite way to cut our visit short so I could get at my project. I’ve got to figure out how to move the stove away from the wall. It’s so heavy I can’t budge it at all. I’m sure I’ll come up with something. It may involve redoing the flooring.

Oh, boy. Here we go again.

#WeekendCoffeeShare is generously hosted by Diana at PartTimeMonsterBlog.com.

Weekend Coffee Share (11/12/16)

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161112

If we were having coffee, I  would tell you that I am trying very, very hard to not be political right now. Hillary supporters are grieving. Trump supporters are celebrating. And I’m not really sure who the people are that think vandalism and violence and rioting is the appropriate response to the presidential election results.

But I realized last night that I’m not being political at all. I’m being human. And that’s very important right now. One of the definitions Dictionary.com gives us for the word “human” is “sympathetic; humane.” I might add fallible, imperfect, visceral, discerning, emotive and perseverant to the list.

Regardless of our political stances, we are all human. And so it hurts when Starbucks puts out a drink cup design meant to represent unity, and social media trolls decry the design as a divisive political statement. Since when did unity become a Blue or Red characteristic to vilify?

And it hurts when I watch late night show host monologues of the evening after the election, and it makes me cry; not with laughter, but with sorrow. I try to cry softly so as not to upset my dog, because he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He watches me warily and worriedly, and then he comes over and jumps up to frantically lick my face as if to say, “It’s okay. Be happy! I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

And then I wonder how many parents are trying to grieve discreetly so as not to frighten their young children. And it hurts more. Much more.

If we were having coffee, I would think I should apologize for being such a downer, for being a thoughtless host for expressing my not-so-uplifting feelings. But then I would rethink, and realize that I’m just being human. And I would try to respect that you, too, are human and regardless of your thoughts and feelings about the election or the candidates or the Starbucks coffee cup, we would most likely both be humane about one another’s beliefs.

And what’s a good coffee share without honesty and respect and – if not real understanding—at least a willingness to listen. So please have another cup of coffee and I will respectfully listen as you share your honesty. After all, that’s what a thoughtful host does.

Thanks to Diana at PartTimeMonsterBlog.com for hosting the #WeekendCoffeeShare.

Speechless Thursday

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weep

“On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.”

~ H. L. Mencken (1880-1956)

As yet I cannot comprehend 
     the ills that have been ordained,
          nor how they came to be,
               nor how anyone justifies these creeds.

As yet I cannot see a way
to fight these ills that threaten me,      
     that threaten us,
          and our children
               and their children,
and this innocent Earth
     with the bounty she so selflessly shares
          while we systematically poison her.

As yet I cannot rightly communicate
my utter, utter dismay.

So for today
     as I struggle to comprehend,
         as I struggle for words,
              as I struggle to fathom a response,

I will honor my speechlessness
     and I will weep.

I Just Want to Be

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balance

“I’m miserable,” she utters despondently.
Her head drops to the table,
face smushed into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
“I just want to be happy.”

Happy? Hell, I’d settle for functional.

“Is that too much to ask?”
She sniffles into her sleeve.

“Not at all,” he says.
“Everyone deserves to be happy.”
Kind eyes. Calm voice. Practiced cadence.

How does one deserve an emotion? I wonder.
Either you feel it, or you don’t.

Or is it a state, and not an emotion?
The state of happiness…
Can one deserve to be in a state?

What about the state of depression?
No one deserves that, that’s for sure.
Then again, no one would likely say,
“I just want to be depressed.”

The clock on the wall seems frozen.
I will the hands to move more quickly.
They don’t.
Perhaps I don’t deserve a faster clock.

He turns toward me. Observation mode.
I don’t meet his gaze, but I don’t look away, either.
Blank eyes. Silence. Practiced apathy.

“And how are you this morning?” he asks gently.
I consider the question.
Perhaps I should have prepared a response.
It’s not like I didn’t know he’d ask.

“Depressed,” I say.
“That’s why I’m here.”

I just want to be well.
Is that too much to ask?

The Daily Post Discovery Challenge: Radical Authenticity

Story Time

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bespoken

“What story do the things you wear tell about you?”
(The Daily Post Discover Challenge: Outer Layers)

The story I portray,
the story I live,
the story you tell yourself about me,
the story I tell myself about me…

Do the clothes I wear
tell about me,
or are they simply fodder for
lots of stories?

It’s so tempting to judge
a book by its cover.